


First Blood

by CaptainJacq



Series: The Merchant and the Pirate [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, FrostIron - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Pirate AU, Pirate Captain Loki, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJacq/pseuds/CaptainJacq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really should have listened to Rhodie when he told him there were pirates on the Transatlantic. But he'd ignored him, he'd ignored Pepper too. Maybe if he hadn't he wouldn't be on his father's old ship being attacked by pirates. Pirates. Goddamn pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

> It's short, but I seriously ran out of time. There will be so much more to this AU though. SO MUCH.   
> I mean, come on. PIRATES. PIRATES. PIRATES.

 

When Pepper had warned him against taking up Obadiah’s offer to see his passage across the Atlantic Ocean, Tony hadn’t seen any real reason to take her seriously. Piracy was common on the Transatlantic, according to Rhodes, but Tony had never really taken heed of the stories.

 

He had definitely taken heed now; because this was so far beyond a ghost story it was unbelievable.

 

The shouting above deck had been constant since Tony was shuttered below. The ricocheting sound of the cannons had been echoing through the hull and dulled his hearing to a faint ringing sound, and yet Tony could still hear the shouting. Hear the screaming.

 

He was no fool; he knows exactly what’s happening up there. Knows how much he’s put into this. Those are his cannons, his pistols that Obadiah’s men are using. Hells bells, it’s more than likely it’s his cannons and his pistols putting holes in the _Maria_.

 

The smell of black powder is over whelming, underlined only by the sharp acrid taste of fire and destruction. He’s never been a poet, but Tony had always known the way a spark burns, the way it smarts on the skin and tastes on the tongue. He knows the destruction coming from the deck of the black ship they’d seen on the horizon, far too quick for the Maria to out swim.

 

The men had been anxious from the moment they saw the shadow chasing them. Few sailors had time for God; they knew only the fury of the ocean, her turbulent tides and savage glory. She had no mercy, only small affection and the _Maria_ and her men had not been blessed. By the time the crow’s nest had shouted the truth of the jolly rodger sailing ever towards them, the crew had known their fate.

 

They had manned their guns, cleared the deck, and hauled their excess cargo over the side. Tony had watched a crate of good rum go overboard, appalled at the waste, but even he hadn’t the gall to argue against the anxious flicker of the men’s confidence.

 

Considering their predicament now, he had to agree with their fears. Tony had been shoved below deck before the black ship had come to port beside them, but they had been close enough he’d seen the sharp glint of sunlight on steel. Had seen the gathered men and heard the vicious catcalls. He had known what was coming before it had come, but all the same he’d cried out when the first cannon struck. The whole ship had shuddered and jerked and Tony had lost his footing, stumbling forward into the wall.

 

The _Maria_ had groaned when they had returned fire, but by then the pirates had come to port and he’d felt the ship being hit once, twice and then again. The shouts up above had grown frantic and Tony’s heart had been pounding in his chest, set to burst.

 

Tony was not a stupid man; foolish and inconsiderate he’d been called more than once. An officious rogue who had never learned to hold his tongue, yes. But stupid he was not, and when the ship shuddered once again, tipping dangerously he knew that the _Maria_ was sunk.

 

The desk was bolted to the floor, but as the ship lurched everything upon it slid forward. The open lid on the ink well dripped black and wet down the slope of the desk and made something quell in Tony’s stomach as he braced himself against the wall and watched the ink ooze down the wood like blood. Above them another cannonball struck the _Maria_ and the ship groaned and shuddered again. Tony could hear screaming right above him and the unmistakable sound of splintering wood. Another cannonball struck and the shouting increased ten fold, giving Tony just enough time to expect something grand as a huge crash quaked through the entire vessel as the main mast collapsed downwards.

 

Tony had but a second’s warning before the roof of his room buckled, splitting under the weight of the mast and the destruction of the pirate’s cannons. Diving forward he attempted to let the desk take most of the strain but another cannon blast tore through the walls and sent everything shattering.

 

The air was driven out of Tony’s lungs in a sharp, painful gasp as the weight of something hit him right in the chest. Everything was muddled and black and mute for the longest time. Tony felt as if he were swimming through molasses as he dragged himself back to consciousness. He was pressed tight against the wall, splintering shards of wooden walls, weighted down with the heavy mast kept him trapped. He felt deadened, heavy and thick and useless, but the spark wasn’t dead yet.

 

Tony knew then that the pirates weren’t seeking just to rob them, but fully intended on sinking the _Maria_. All hope lay now in several key moves. Whether or not he desired going down with his father’s old ship, whether he thought he could withstand treading water long enough to reach some sort of land, or whether he could barter his way on board their attacking vessel and ransom his way to freedom.

 

Pushing himself free of the wooden weight was harder than he anticipated, something sharp and painful lanced through his chest as he attempted to push the largest piece free.

 

Gasping, Tony retreated for a moment, breathing hard and listening to the muted shouting that was still going on outside. He knew this was his only chance, any minute longer that he stayed where he was left his chances slimmer than the last. Taking in a deep breath, Tony braced himself and shifted his weight before pushing forward on the wood. It took a moment and Tony gasped, pushing and straining and feeling so little give he wasn’t sure he had any chance of getting it off him, before something gave way quickly and he slammed forward, hitting himself against the wood again and sending another sharp glancing pain through his chest. But with the absence of weight, it was not only easier to breathe but also easier to move the splinters off his legs and drag himself upright.

 

It was only standing that Tony could actually take stock of himself and acknowledge the source of the pain in his chest. His shirt and waistcoat were bloody and torn, but it was still easy enough to see the shattered splinters embedded into his skin. His hands were shaking as he pried the largest out of his chest, nearly 2 inches long and wide, wider than the pencils he used to draw up the designs that had just been used against him. The others were smaller, but scattered, lodged in his chest and strangely absent of pain.

 

Above him another blast hit the ship, lower, this time and Tony knew he had to move. He was out of time. Leaning against the wall he boosted himself up onto what was left of the desk and used it to launch himself over the mast. The door itself was trapped shut and it took several painful heaving shoves to pry it open just enough to squeeze himself out. He was barely two steps from the room before he came face to face with the dead, unseeing eyes of a sailor, the man’s body peppered with the same large splinters from his chest to his neck. He was slumped over the stairs, blood sprayed out over each step. Tony had to fight the urge to be ill. He could still hear the man’s urgency when he’d pushed Tony into his room and told him not to come out.

 

Somewhere outside another series of pistol shots went off and Tony jolted himself out of his stupor, balancing himself on the railing and avoiding stepping on any of the blood as he attempted to climb the almost intact stairs.

 

There were more bodies. It was the first thing he saw as he climbed out onto the open deck. There were bodies everywhere. And shouting, and so, so much blood. Tony wasn’t even thinking as he stared at the gaping expanse of blood and death and destruction that had once been the pride of his father’s fleet. The only thing he had left of his father’s love and his mother’s beauty, nearly drawn in half and painted red and black.

 

Someone grabbed him, dragging him forward and then slamming him down onto his knees. He felt the press of a pistol against the back of his neck and he couldn’t even think to string two words together to tell them who he was. What he could offer them.

 

Then suddenly someone else was shouting and the pistol was pulled away.

 

“Do you know who this is, you righteous fools? You’re lucky the sea smiles on you otherwise you’d be facing the captain for putting a bullet in the back of Anthony Stark’s head. Braggarts, foolish ingrates.”

 

Tony wanted to laugh, he wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have a goddamned voice anymore. He left it in the room downstairs along with a pool of his own blood and the ability to breathe properly.

 

But then he was being dragged upright and pulled along like a dog. Whoever had him was tall and wide and dark skinned, bald and strong and dragged him like he was nothing. They lead him down to the boat that had brought most of the pirates onto the _Maria’s_ deck. Most of them joined Tony and the dark skinned man in the tiny dingy boat as they rowed back to the black-hulled ship. She too was damaged, Tony noticed as the hull loomed over them, but only lightly, as if she were a child with skinned knees instead of broken, bloody bones like the _Maria_. Obadiah had said his men knew what they were doing, but it was as if the pirates had been fighting children.

 

The pirate deck was swarming with men and women alike as Tony was forced up the rope ladder and onto deck with a pistol at hit back. All of them were scarred and sweaty and bloody and grinning from ear to ear. They all scarpered out of their way, though, as the dark skinned man dragged Tony along. The crowd parted as they headed to the port bow and there in the centre of the deck was a handful of Obadiah’s men, and Tony’s uncle himself.

 

“Oh thank Christ Almighty,” Tony swore as the pirate shoved him roughly to his knees next to Obie.

 

“Tony,” Obie said, sounding just as grateful. His uncle looked weary and exhausted and not quite as bloody as the rest of the men surrounding him, but enough it made Tony’s chest tighten.

 

They both made it out alive.

 

The raucous from the crowd went quiet then, and even Obadiah went perfectly still, staring at something just behind Tony. The air caught in Tony’s chest and he felt suddenly, afraid, anxious of what was going to happen next. Tony turned then and the air caught in his throat as he watched the pirate walking down the stairs towards them.

 

Tony found himself staring at a man far younger than he would ever have guessed could be behind this. He was tall and young, younger than Tony by nearly a decade at a guess and that was with the weathered skin of a man long at sea. Black haired and green eyed and sharp, his smile was wicked and unsettling and he walked with a flair that made a cold shiver of dread crawl down Tony’s spine. His frock coat was green and unblemished, the buttons gold and well polished, and his hat was wide brimmed and peacocked with an enormous feather stuck in the left side. The rest of him was rumpled and sea worn, from his shirt and waistcoat all the way down to his boots. But while he wore no cutlass or pistol, he wore a sharp edged weight of authority that no one seemed to argue despite the ruthless men gathered about them.

 

Common sense told Tony he should be careful, but not for the first time in his life he found himself intrigued and frankly excited by the dangerous thing standing right in front of him.

 

“You should not have tried to outrun me, Stane,” the man said, with an amiable smile that held far too many secrets. He leaned down to peer directly at Obadiah, close enough he could have kissed him.

 

“They told me you were a smart man. I must confess I’m at a loss. You’ve disappointed me. That’s a rare occurrence, I must admit.”  


The man smiled, sharp and dangerous, as he stood up straight again.

 

“I owe you nothing, _pirate_ ,” Obadiah snarled and Tony was a little impressed by his Uncle’s audacity, corralled as they were on an enemy ship, all but a handful of their crew dead, on their knees surrounded by cutthroats.

 

The pirate captain laughed, his eyes alight with amusement.

 

“You owe me the weapons you promised,” he replied and Tony couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath. The Captain didn’t move away from Obie, but his eyes flickered straight to Tony and the look on the pirate’s face told wonders; the wicked gleam in his eyes, the sharp curling smirk on his lips. He whispered without words that he had received exactly the response he had desired.

 

The man stood up, back straight, hands clasped behind his back, as regal as a goddamn prince.

 

“Yet, instead of my cargo, I learn that you’re set to cross the Atlantic. Absconding with my money. How audacious of you, Stane. It is so rare that I find such honorable men willing to barter with rogues, and rarer still to find an honorable man ready to out-rogue a pirate. I am most amused, Stane. I’ve had a glorious time.”

 

Tony found himself torn between the pirate’s charming display and the dulled horror unfurling inside his chest as he stared at Obadiah. The man refused to look at him, but Tony could see the flickering muscles as he fought to keep his expression, the tight fists he kept, as if waiting for his chance to land a blow.

 

“Better still you bring me half my cargo and a surprise. Anthony Stark, the man of wonders. Tell me, Stane; how were you going to get rid of him on this trip? That is the reason you brought him along, is it not?”

 

Tony wanted to laugh at that, it bubbled up in his chest, climbing quickly up his throat and fizzled like acid burn as he turned to look at Obie. Obadiah’s expression was fixed rage, tight and savage and the young Captain just laughed. It was the sound of bells, childish and gleeful.

 

Obadiah growled.

 

Tony felt his whole world collapsing around him.

 

“And look, Stane, he _wonders_. He knows now, you can see it written all over his face.”

 

The Captain turned his attention wholly on Tony then, crouching down in front of him and studying him like he was something the man had never seen before. His eyes brilliantly green and piercing.

 

“He’s been stealing from you for years, Anthony. The Ironmonger, they call him amongst the rogues. He’s been stealing your designs, your cargo and weapons and selling it for himself. Leeching off you like a parasite, and now he’s brought you out to sea, to kill you. He doesn’t need you anymore, Anthony. How does that feel?” the captain says nothing, then, just stares and stares like he’s searching for something inside Tony. Like he can see into every corner and crevice and knows the anger surging through him, the betrayal and desperate sorrow. It hurts; it hurts far more than the splinters currently embedded into his skin. It hurts more than any burn or injury he’s ever got off any of his weapons.

 

It’s sharp and dangerous and violent, the feeling coursing through him.

 

The Captain smiles and stands up in one swift turning flourish of movement.

He takes a handful of steps back and fixes his feet apart, tucking his hands behind his back. It’s a powerful display, not so much demanding authority than expecting it. Whoever he is, he’s made his mark, proved himself a thousand times over given the way everyone looks to him to lead without question, the way even Tony finds himself looking to him to decide what exactly comes next.

 

“I don’t know about you, Mr Stark, but I don’t take to betrayal kindly. We had an accordance, Stane, one you tried to outmaneuver. I don’t appreciate the effort. Your men as they are may prove useful. They can go into the galleys below, prove their worth and they might see a place upon my ship. They have until port to impress me. As for you, Mr Stane,” The Captain said, holding out his hand, expectantly. The hulking brute standing in his shadow pulled his pistol from his belt and put it into the younger man’s hands.

 

“Well, I have no use for you,” he shrugged, smiling sharply again as he pointed the pistol straight at Obadiah and shot him through the neck.

 

Tony shouted and jumped out of the way as Obie’s body jolted backwards, the flesh of his throat ripped open. Blood pooled and spluttered as Obie tried vainly to breathe, the effort splattering the front of him as he took one breath, then another, then another and then fell silent, his eyes open and staring at nothing. Tony couldn’t look away for the longest moment, his own rage suddenly quiet. He felt completely hollow and if the Captain had turned his pistol on Tony then he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest.

 

Instead, his next orders made Tony turn to face him in shock.

 

“Toss the body overboard. The rest of you clean deck. We’ll keep anchor here till dawn, Amora, take what you can from the Maria, stow her below. Helblindi oversee any major repairs. And Byleistr? Bring Stark to my cabin.”

 

His gaze flickered down to meet Tony’s then.

 

“We need to have a little talk, I think,” he smirked.

 

 


End file.
